Morte et Liberté
by OpportuneMoment
Summary: Sydney's body is discovered in the woods... is it death, or just release?
1. Death

**Morte et Liberté**

**(Death and Freedom)**

**Author:** Gillian Slater

**E-mail:** As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...

**PART ONE **

Garish floodlighting streaked through the morbid gloom of the forest. The woods were alive with white-clad forensics personnel, plain-clothed detectives and uniformed cops, the trees banded with crime scene tape. Jarod threaded his way over to the officer-in-charge.

"Detective Gardener?"

The balding, bespectacled man looked up at the sound of his name.

"Doctor Jarod Mason, coroner." He extended his hand, and the detective took it, friendly but puzzled.

"Oh, I thought we called--"

"You did, sir, Dr. Jerez, but his wife's having a baby as we speak, so..."

"Right, right. Well, anyway, glad we could get anybody out here at this time of night." He motioned over to the cluster of forensic scientists bent over a corpse. "Party's over there."

Jarod approached the crime scene, squinting in the artificial brightness and peering past all the people. The body was male, he could make out, and by the grey hair probably in his sixties... Even from a distance, Jarod was certain he'd seen the man before. He ducked under the tape, stopped dead, staring at the all-too-familiar face of the deceased.

"NO - _Sydney_!"

---------------------

The insistent bleep of the phone stabbed through Miss Parker's drowsy brain. Half-asleep, she made a clumsy swipe at the handset and knocked it off it's hook onto the floor. Cursing bitterly as she glanced over at the digital clock which beamed "04.22", she rolled and felt around on the carpet, finally grabbing it up and putting it to her ear, simultaneously pulling her duvet over her head.

"What?" she snapped, hoping her abruptness would make it clear she did NOT intend to get into anything deep at this hour.

No reply. She could hear breathing, and the faintest stutter, as though the inconsiderate jackass on the other end was trying to speak but couldn't. And there was only one jackass she thought would be calling her at this hour.

"Jarod, I swear to God--"

"He's dead," Jarod's voice was barely a whisper, "Miss Parker..."

She felt a cold shiver down her back as he tailed off. Something was very wrong - for all his Pretender acting skills, Parker had always been able to tell when he was teasing her, and this was no joke.

"Who's dead, Jarod?" Parker asked, more insistence than annoyance in her tone now. She was sure she heard a stifled sob from the other end, and then Jarod cleared his throat volubly.

"Check your mail," he said abruptly, and hung up.

Dropping the phone, Parker leaped out of bed and booted up her computer. She could feel her tension build as she waited the agonising seconds for the drowsy system to come to life.

"You have E-mail" it announced. Hastily she opened it and held her breath as the image spread down the screen to reveal...

"Oh my god."

**END OF PART ONE**


	2. Homecoming

_Morte et Liberté_

_(Death and Freedom)_

**PART TWO**

Broots' tiny cubby-hole of an office was way too small pace in, Parker decided. Why was this taking so goddamn long? Jarod would be long gone by the time they discovered the location of Sydney's... it was still so hard to believe. The psychiatrist had stood in this room on Friday enthusing about a lead on Jarod's family which might have been good for a trade. After all this time, the never-ending chase, Sydney was still desperate to get back those sim-discs.

Broots angrily waved the billowing cigarette smoke away from his face as he scribbled down details, holding the phone awkwardly between his shoulder and his ear.

"Uh-huh, right. Well we'll get down there straight away, and don't you let that body out of your sight, clear?"

Although she'd sooner die than admit it to the weasley little man, Broots could sound quite authoritative when he wanted to. As he put the phone down and began rearranging his papers, Miss Parker sat herself down purposely on top of them.

"Well?"

"Well, the b-body's in Connecticut. It was found in the woods around a Girl Scout camp--"

"I don't care if it's in the middle of a jamboree! What did you tell them!" Broots flinched at her scathing tone and stammered on.

"We're CDC, and we think that.. that Sydney was a carrier of a new contagion. No one'll go near the, err, him until we get there."

"Quite the little Pretender aren't we Broots? Guess you'd better find us some convincing gear, then."

------------------------

Broots hurried along behind Miss Parker through the corridors of St. Joseph's hospital, Hartford, CT. God, the woman was on a mission, striding as confidently and purposefully as her ridiculous haz-mat suit would allow. He'd had the good sense not to tell her she looked good in it, especially after the withering look she'd given him when he first produced their disguises.

As they approached the morgue, the police officers on guard there balked at the sight of the two intimidating CDC doctors, no doubt fearing they'd be quarantined or, worse, actually contract whatever disease the corpse was supposed to have.

Parker whipped out her fake ID and flashed it at the cops. One actually grinned appreciatively at her. Mistake. Her answering look was icy.

"We're here for the DOA. Move."

"Err, of course. Right this way, doctor." He ushered her and Broots through into the morgue, shivering at the sudden cold.

When the white-coated mortuary assistant opened one of row upon row of stainless steel doors and slid out the table on which Sydney's corpse lay, pale and silent, it took all Broots' willpower not to throw up right there. That would _definitely _ruin their credibility. Miss Parker, however, remained the consummate professional, her face an emotionless mask.

"I was told you've been able to identify the body... one of your coroners knew him?" She asked, ever-so coolly.

"Yeah, Jarod. I heard he actually broke down at the scene, and I've never known him to get emotional on the job. Off duty, sure, he's a caring kinda guy but--" Miss Parker held up a hand sharply to cut off the man's rambling.

"And where is this Jarod now?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. He didn't show up for work today, so I rang his apartment and his landlord said all his stuff's cleared out. I guess this guy, err..." He looked down at the toe tag, "...'Sydney'...must've meant a lot to Jarod."

Miss Parker looked at Sydney too, nodding imperceptibly. _He certainly did_... For just a moment the mask fell as she remembered Jarod's cracked voice on the phone last night. Then, snapping her disguise back into place, she turned towards the door.

"The helicopter's outside... Chop chop," She ordered the mortuary man, who looked like he was about to protest, but, from the tone of her voice, realised it would be quite futile.

---------------------

As the chopper sped over the dense Connecticut woodlands, Broots sat nervously in the back passenger seat, every so often stealing a glance behind him to the unadorned wooden coffin in which Sydney's body lay. He still half-expected the lid to suddenly pop off and Sydney to sit up and admit it was all a plan to get to Jarod. When he voiced this suspicion to Miss Parker, sitting opposite him, she fixed him with a scornful glare.

"Yes, Broots, I'm _sure _you're right," her voice dripped with sarcasm, "Sydney found out Golden Boy became a coroner and cleverly laid a trap by killing himself, that about it Sherlock?" Broots shrank back from the rebuke.

"No," she continued, more to herself now, "This must've come from high up."

"From... _Your father?_" Broots whispered. Her eyes flashed anger at the suggestion, but she didn't deny it.

**END OF PART TWO**


	3. Truth

_Morte et Liberté_

_(Death and Freedom)_

**PART THREE**

Mr. Parker looked up from his desk suddenly as the grand, gilded doors of his office flew open and his daughter strode in. He rose and stepped out to meet her with open arms.

"Pumpkin," he said affectionately as she embraced him.

"Daddy," she stepped away and smoothed her suit, "I've had Sydney's body placed in the cold store. Has the investigation turned up anything new?" She kept her voice strong and emotionless, her chin high, determined not to give credence to the speculation that fierce, queen-bitch Parker would be grieved by the psychiatrist's death.

Her father saw right through her as always, keeping his hands on her shoulders, meeting her eyes with a promise. "Not yet, but mark my words, we'll find out who did this. Sydney was like family..."

He retuned to his desk and sat down. "We'll hold the funeral a week tomorrow."

Miss Parker was puzzled, "A funeral? Daddy, Centre personnel are never--"

"You'll be ready with sweeper-teams around the perimeter."

Suddenly she understood, and inexplicably the idea sickened her. "You're going to use Sydney's funeral to capture Jarod." The cold, rational part of her that would have done anything possible to catch him knew this was the perfect plan. No matter what the danger, Jarod _would _be at Sydney's funeral, and probably less clear-headed and cunning than usual. But the deep-hidden human side of her knew that this was a step too low, to use the Pretender's grief and loss as a weapon against him...

Mr. Parker watched the brief conflict play across his daughter's usually stony face. "I know what you're thinking... but we'd be fools to let an opportunity like this slip." He watched the sudden sharp look of denial that she'd had any misgivings at all, and sighed, "Now, pumpkin... _Brigitte _will co-ordinating this operation, just in case you're... not up to it."

At the mere mention of the lollipop-sucking slut's name, she glared in undisguised fury at her father for a moment, then turned and stalked out of the office.

As she stormed down the corridor towards what used to be Sydney's office, she could barely think for anger. She couldn't believe she'd let her ruthless efficiency slip to the point that her father didn't trust her to do the job! Brigitte... god how she hated that woman. Now the blonde bimbo would get the credit for Jarod's capture. Parker realised with particular disgust that the situation was entirely her own fault for developing a conscience, a serious character flaw in her profession, which had been greatly influenced by working with Sydney, damn him!

She stomped into her late colleague's office, and glared at the little framed photo of Sydney on the desk. "This is all _your fault_!" she hissed at it. Her distraction cleared for a moment, then, as she looked more closely at the photograph. Why would Sydney have a picture of himself on his desk? He was probably the least narcissistic person she knew...

_Jacob..._

----------------------

Sydney's identical twin had died just weeks ago, in a remote cabin, attended by his loving brother to the last. Parker and Broots had both been there as Jacob, who'd been comatose for most of his adult life, had, near the end, awoken enough to sit and smile out at the beautiful view before passing peacefully away.

Of course, as far as the Centre were concerned, Parker had suffocated Jacob in his bed at a nursing home a year ago, and so they never knew of the 'second' death of Sydney's twin, nor his quiet burial in the hills near the cabin.

Parker's mind wandered as she drove along the tiny, winding lanes towards that sanctuary. She remembered how, when she'd first learned of Sydney's death from Jarod, she noted that even in death the twins weren't far apart, and wondered if the loss of his brother had in anyway contributed to these circumstances.

Now she only smiled at the suspicions she was about to confirm, laughing within herself that Sydney had learned such deception, and had the audacity to pull it off.

A few hours later, she stood over an immense hole in the ground, breathing hard, her white office shirt muddied and sweaty. The coffin was visible below the last, thin layer of dirt. With a silent apology to Jacob for what she was about to do, and an involuntary shudder at the fear of actually discovering a festering corpse instead of an empty box, she jumped down and began to prise off the lid.

Her heart in her mouth, she opened the coffin a crack and shone her flashlight in. The wooden bottom was clearly visible, and she huffed with relief. She laughed as she climbed out and began to shovel the dirt back over the empty casket. "It's a good job you're not dead, Syd, 'cause I'm going to _kill _you when I catch up with you, sneaky bastard!"

She wondered whether he would simply disappear without a trace, or whether, like Jarod, he too would start waking her up with infuriating phone calls.

Her cell phone vibrated like fury in her pocket, and she stopped shovelling to answer it.

"What?"

"Err.. Miss Parker, it's me," Broots' voice was low and nervous as usual, "I think you should try and get back here ASAP... I've just had Brigitte down here asking for you."

"I'm on my way."

"Did you--"

"I was right." She could almost hear the little man smiling as he hung up.

**END OF PART THREE**


	4. Freedom

_Morte et Liberté_

_(Death and Freedom)_

**PART FOUR**

The rough sea crashed against the rugged cliff, spray flying up hundreds of feet, as though trying desperately to reach the foot of the slender lighthouse perched on the edge of the headland.

Jarod peered through the drizzle out to the misty horizon as he cycled along the muddy coast road of the island. Since his escape he'd taken on hundreds of different jobs, often dangerous and exciting, but he found the quiet simplicity of the postman's life strangely satisfying.

He reached the lighthouse and stood his bike up against the wall. Cheerfully he squelched up to the door and knocked loudly. As it opened, Jarod's grin widened as he looked through the rain into a familiar face.

"Hello, Jarod," Sydney smiled back.

------------------

In the cosy, round living room, Jarod and Sydney sat at a little wooden table, wine glasses raised.

"To escape," Sydney toasted.

"Escape," Jarod replied, "And retirement."

"Yes, finally. I always knew they would never allow me to retire, even before you escaped... the disadvantage of knowing too many secrets."

"You're better off dead. No one will be hunting you."

"I'm sorry Jarod, but I do believe that Parker will never stop trying to recapture you. My death won't have changed that. As much as she wants to find the truth about her mother, her pride won't allow her to just let you go."

"That's probably a good thing. The Centre doesn't encourage 'live-and-let-live' policy. She'd be... removed."

Sydney nodded in sombre agreement.

"No, she'll never stop chasing me," Jarod mused again, a half-smile playing across his face. Sydney smiled at his protégé, knowing the Pretender enjoyed the cat-and-mouse games more than he'd ever admit.

"There are still years of secrets to be uncovered within the Centre. Parker and Broots will have to continue that search without me, but I think their, ah, grief will be short-lived." Sydney smiled... he didn't doubt Miss Parker's intellect for a second, she would realise the truth soon enough, and keep it to herself.

"But you're safe now," Jarod continued, "So maybe it's time you had these back." He took out a smooth, silver briefcase and handed it to an astonished Sydney.

"The simulations--!"

"You can look after them better than I can, and I can't really use them as a bargaining chip anymore. They're _your _life's work."

Sydney took the case gently, handling it like fragile bone china. "You know, these discs are almost the only record that I even exist."

"Me too."

"The irony is, when you escaped with these, I thought it the end of my career, my life, but here your being on the outside was the only way I could get out too. Thank you, Jarod."

"That's what family are for."

-----------------------

The weather was beautiful in Blue Cove, sunlight striping through the willow trees in the cemetery. Miss Parker stood before the grave, her father beside her, Broots hovering anxiously behind and with Mr. Raines off to one side, scowling about in tense anticipation of the ambush.

The sweepers were among the trees, waiting, ready to pounce.

Parker looked over at Raines, who nodded the go-ahead. She cleared her throat and took out a slip of paper from her jacket.

Her eulogy was simple, to the point and not overly sentimental. They were not the words Parker would have chosen had this been a genuine funeral, had she not been surrounded by Centre officials who more than likely found Sydney's death merely convenient. No one there, with the possible exception of Broots, and Jarod, if was indeed lurking in the shadows, would ever have guessed her real thoughts about the 'dear departed', the man who had been her sole comfort after her mother's murder, who had supported her, advised her and infuriated her for years...

She looked to the edge of the cemetery, half holding her breath in anticipation of action, but, in truth, she knew Jarod was too smart to fall for such a trap, knew the tactics of his pursuers too well to believe the funeral was all that it appeared.

Brigitte slipped out of her hiding place and came over to Mr. Raines with a sullen pout to her model features. She showed him a bouquet of flowers with a card from Jarod, cursing under her breath. Miss Parker felt a glow of satisfaction as Raines glared contemptuously at her. She would have to thank Jarod for that sometime. The plan abandoned, all eyes turned back to the grave. Parker looked briefly at the coffin, then out to the trees.

"Rest in peace, Sydney."

As the so-called mourners dispersed, Miss Parker and Broots returned to their sleek black car. As soon as she shut the door her cell phone beeped an incoming message.

"Very moving. Thank you."

She smiled and wordlessly showed it to Broots before erasing it.

"Think he'll be alright?" Broots asked quietly.

Miss Parker smiled, "Well, he's gone to a better place."

**THE END**


End file.
